


the rockrose and the thistle

by corviknightly



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Background Relationships, But in a bad way, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Eldritch Entities, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, MAG 167 spoilers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mainly focused on sarah carpenter, no beta we die like emma harvey asked us to check out the spooky coffin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29173461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corviknightly/pseuds/corviknightly
Summary: Gertrude Robinson had many assistants in her time. Three of them die in the span of a week.(alternatively titled- i developed feelings for sarah carpenter)
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson, Sarah Carpenter & Emma Harvey & Michael Shelley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	the rockrose and the thistle

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "the rockrose and the thistle" by the amazing devil!

Sarah Carpenter’s definitive belief in the supernatural was set in stone on her eighth birthday when she was nearly eaten alive. She came across a pile of meat in the woods outside her hometown, thrumming with life and blood despite the fact that it was midwinter and it had no heart. The icy mist in the air sent shivers down her spine, but she would never forget the strange heat of warm flesh gripping her arm. She came home that day and told her parents she never wanted to eat meat again. They assumed she’d found some roadkill in the woods and been scared by it, and she never bothered to correct them.

She’d always been the type of girl to discount scary stories on principle. They were always silly and relied on some dramatic twist- there was never a clown statue in the bedroom, the babysitter was dead the whole time- and the expressions of her classmates never failed to make her laugh. Still, she started listening diligently to them, analyzing, searching for the little discrepancies that would mark a story as real. That never got anywhere, as all the stories her classmates whispered to each other had entirely changed form through years of gossip. It made her damn good at English classes, but nothing more could be said for those childhood investigations.

She found her second piece of evidence when she turned fifteen and began to dismiss her determination to uncover the truth as just a weird childhood obsession. Her best friend Dot approached her in tears, drenched in mud-colored water that reeked of salt. She had been arguing with someone from the church down the street, who pushed her into a puddle and never let her hit the bottom.

Sarah promised to let her stay over, to keep her safe and help calm down, but when they fell asleep together on her inflatable mattress, only one of them was there to wake up the next morning. 

She couldn’t tell if she ever quite recovered from that loss. The cold of the air on her skin as she was left alone was far worse than the warmth of that first encounter with the flesh. 

It’s strange, to stand certain in your knowledge that there is more to the world than it first lets on and not be able to say a word about it. Her classmates knew her as “Sensible Sarah,” the friend with a degree in talking the others out of breaking into abandoned lots or stealing from the Teacher’s Lounge after dark. They’d think her mad if she ever told them about her theories. Normal teenagers weren’t supposed to stay up long after dark in their rooms, trying to stare beyond the shimmering fog of reality.

She didn’t want to admit it, but she felt just a little superior to them. It was the thrilling idea of Knowing, of being “in” on a joke, watching a child make up answers to questions that could so easily be explained if they had a little bit more life experience. Except- well- the life experience in question was being struck by some monstrous creature, and she didn’t really wish it on anyone.

Sarah had just graduated high school when the statements from the Magnus Institute were leaked to the public. 

It was a rather big scandal, she refreshed the forums hundreds of times to read each person’s shocked response or mile-long essay on how betrayed they felt that such a well-funded institution was basically a scam.  The whole deal almost made her avoid them entirely, but the longer she put off reading them, the more the nagging itch to be in on the secret grew, starting at the back of her mind and clawing outwards until all that she could think about was just taking a quick look. She would read a few, check if they were real, and she would move on. 

She finished the document in a single night. The reporters were right in most of their harsh descriptions- so many of the “statements” were clearly drug-induced, and some even seemed to have been submitted as jokes. 

So many of them were clearly false, but she couldn’t discount them all. Especially not when she uncovered Hatendi’s statement from 1983, and his encounter with the same foul-smelling water that had killed her friend. 

The Magnus Institute was hiring when she arrived in London by train, in April of 2003. The coincidence was surprising, if not weirdly easy, but certainly not unwelcome. They were filling the position of an archival assistant, and Sarah was certain that her CV and degree would be enough to convince their hiring manager she would be perfect for the job. She couldn’t imagine they were getting a lot of new hires with the state of their PR. 

She was right on all fronts, of course, and within a day of her application being processed, she found herself sitting face-to-face with the very head of the institute. 

The desk was extravagant, dark mahogany wood, with little marks scored into the legs on the side opposite from Bouchard, likely left by hundreds of stressed employees as they sat. A gold-framed portrait of some Regency-era man with eyes that lurked constantly in her periphery hung on the wall, and a thin layer of dust blanketed everything. It seemed like everything about the room was designed to make her eyes itch. 

“Miss Carpenter,” Bouchard met her gaze, gray eyes cool and calculating. She felt like she was being stared down by a hawk- maybe an owl, actually. There was something calculating in his eyes that wasn’t reflected anywhere else in his smiling face, and it was just uncanny enough to send a shiver down her spine. She’d dealt with weird bosses, though, and didn’t shrink away from his gaze. 

Satisfied, he turned back down to her CV, casually pretending that their moment of prolonged eye contact hadn’t happened at all. 

“Do you conduct every interview personally?” She asked, then promptly winced at the accusatory tone in her voice. 

“It was a tradition started by our founder, Jonah Magnus, it’s been around long before I was born.” His voice carried so much barely-concealed haughtiness that it was actually irritating. 

“And if I may bring us back on topic, what brought you to the Magnus Institute?”

“I’m sure you don’t need to be reminded of the statement leaks, around four years ago? I read through a few of them, your records of the past are extensive and I would love to work with them.” She smiled politely, proud of her answer even though she was lying through her teeth. The century-old statements could go up in smoke if she got what she wanted out of them.  The interview continued on as normal, questions about salary and workplace environment (Bouchard had laughed at that one, and Sarah wished she knew why) were asked, and right as she was ready to leave, he offered her his hand.

“You seem like you’ll be a wonderful fit for the Institute. I look forward to working with you.”

They shook hands, and she swore she could feel hundreds of eyes on her. 

**Author's Note:**

> woo!! one chapter down!! i hope it's not terribly obvious that i haven't written anything in actual months, i had one of those Concepts that wouldn't leave me alone


End file.
